


Knock on Wood

by Alistra (ALeaseInWonderland)



Series: It's Bad Luck to Believe in Superstition [2]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALeaseInWonderland/pseuds/Alistra
Summary: Following the initial threesome with Natasha onFriday the 13th, Bucky and Clint are now a couple. If only they weren't facing the eternal bi conundrum of wanting to have a boyfriend and eat their girlfriend too.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Series: It's Bad Luck to Believe in Superstition [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881235
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32
Collections: Winterwidowhawk Fest





	Knock on Wood

**Author's Note:**

> CloudAtlas is my beta. She made this betta.

When Bucky returns from the bathroom, Clint is still sprawled across the rumpled sheets, staring at the ceiling exactly the way he was a few minutes ago.

"Can we do that again?" he sighs, making room on the mattress but draping himself all over Bucky like an affectionate puppy as soon as he's settled.

"What, right now? Give me a minute there, pal..." Bucky says, grinning broadly when this earns him a groan in reply.

"God no, I don't think I even know where my legs are at this point." Clint fumbles blindly behind himself and finds the corner of a sheet which he pulls halfway up around their entwined bodies. Neither of them is invested enough to care about the lopsided way in which it leaves most of them uncovered. "No, I mean this whole day," he picks up his train of thought again, mumbling into Bucky's shoulder. "With the date and the coffee and the utterly unexpected turn of nude gymnastics."

Bucky feels Clint smile against his skin and he laughs a spontaneous kiss to the mess of blond hair resting on his chest. It's surprising, given the fact that Clint has a full head's height on him, how perfectly he fits into Bucky's arms. It's making him feel protective of Clint, maybe a bit possessive even, and ten feet tall.

It's been a long while since Bucky's considered anything that could be called a relationship, but though it's only been a couple of days, he's feeling uncharacteristically optimistic about giving this thing between them a shot.

Although there's a certain elephant in the room that it might be impossible to ignore forever.

They haven't spoken about the night they first met, or rather, not beyond the vague allusion to certain actions between just the two of them. There is no safe way Bucky can come up with to mention that he'd like to see Natasha again, be it in a romantic context or as friends. The thing is, Bucky's not a big talker to begin with, so he's sure that he'd manage to make himself misunderstood. He doesn't want Clint to think for a minute that he finds him _lacking_ in any regard, because he doesn't.

It's likely Bucky wouldn't be stressing about this so much if he didn't have the full technicolor collector's edition of memories in his head of just how _good_ Clint looked between Natasha's thighs and how much fun all three of them had had that night - not even remotely limited to their time in bed. An uglier part of his brain reminds him of the fact that Clint and Natasha had clicked right away, so there was a good chance that, given a repeat performance, they'd choose each other over him.

Either way it's a moot point. As things stand, Bucky's resigned himself to silently suffer the eternal bi conundrum of wanting his cake and eating it, too, regretting that working threeway relationships aren't really a thing that happens.

And anyway, it's not as if he's unhappy. On the contrary. This tentative thing he's got going with Clint, well, it's going great, which means Bucky's quite frankly not risking it for a (hot, funny, smart) woman they barely know. He likes Clint too much for that.

In fact, Bucky's about to say something terrifyingly romantic to him to that regards just that moment - when Clint farts like a baby elephant's first trumpet and, after a split-second of disbelieving silence, both collapse into graceless snorts of laughter like the teenaged boys they apparently are at heart.

"Yeah, you're really selling the romance angle here, Barton," Bucky wheezes after a moment, still chuckling.

"Excuse me? If anything, you should be apologizing for that huge dick of yours. No wonder my poor ass is crying for help," Clint grins, his tickling fingers surprisingly quick against Bucky's ribs.

It's really only self-defence that Bucky retaliates and from then on it quickly deteriorates into more _gymnastics_. Yeah, there's no happier guy on this planet.

And just like that Bucky Barnes, eternal bachelor, has gotten himself a boyfriend.

When he breaks the news to his roommate Steve a couple of days later over their usual Sunday breakfast at The Diner at the End of the Block, his friend is almost vibrating with sheer happy energy at the news.

Bucky reaches across the booth and gently guides his hand with the sloshing coffee back down to the table top.

Steve laughs, finally takes a long drink and puts the mug back down safely. "I'm so happy for you, Buck," he says. The sincerity in his best friend's happiness leaves him with a warm feeling that doesn't fade even when he hears it for the third time in as many minutes.

"Please say you'll at least try to be calmer than this when you meet him," Bucky says, rolling his eyes with fake exasperation and, cutting Steve off before he can get excited all over again, adds "No, you don't have to ask when. He's on his way over right now so you can vet him yourself."

"I don't have to _vet_ him, Bucky. I-" Steve predictably protests, but Bucky just laughs and throws his wadded up paper napkin at him. "Alright, alright. Tell me more about _Clint_ then. How long has this been going on?"

Bucky gives an abridged version of his love life that leaves out one vital protagonist, as he scans the place for their waitress and motions for more coffee. Steve listens patiently, smoothing out the napkin to doodle Bucky's profile on it with a ballpoint pen someone's forgotten at the neighbouring table.

It's nice and familiar, almost something like a weekly ritual by now, to chat over breakfast together here.

"...and I stayed over at his for the rest of the weekend." Bucky concludes, "That was around the 16th, I think? So yeah, bit more than two weeks now."

Steve is about to say something affectionate and motherhen-ish, he can tell, but Steve cuts himself off, following Bucky's suddenly distracted line of sight to the diner's door where a tall guy in a washed out black hoody has just ducked inside. He seems to actively stop himself from shaking off the rain like a dog, revealing short blond hair sticking up every which way when he flips back his hood. A sudden, heavy warmth blooms in Bucky's chest when Clint spots him and immediately returns his grin as he walks over, accompanied by the wet squeak of his soles on the tiles.

"Hi," he says eloquently as he reaches their table, towering over them both. He nods at Steve awkwardly, clearly unsure of just how familiar a greeting is appropriate in front of his new boyfriend's roommate.

"Hi yourself," Bucky replies, probably looking thoroughly smitten since Steve is stifling a laugh in his coffee.

Clint's nerves visibly melt away and he leans in for a kiss hello that, brief as it is, makes Bucky glad he's already sitting down.

Steve is still grinning.

Bucky's glad he's too old to blush.

Although he wouldn't have _admitted_ to being worried, Bucky's glad that Steve and Clint get along great from the moment Clint slides onto the bench seat next to him to introduce himself. Even biased as he is, Bucky's noticed that his boyfriend is very likeable and quick to make friends, and seeing his two favourite people taking an immediate shine to each other is a huge relief.

Bucky's finished his pancakes and Clint has had a somewhat disturbing amount of coffee, when Steve suddenly misses his conversational cue, his attention clearly caught by something behind Bucky.

"You know what," he addresses Clint in a stage-whisper, leaning into where Clint's arm lays across the backrest, "I'll bet you a slice of mocha cake that there is a tall, serious-looking lady standing at the counter behind us, radiating competence."

"Why, you expecting a friend?" Clint asks, already craning his neck.

"Nope. This guy just has a type," Bucky grins at Steve's amused-guilty expression, but starts as he hears Clint draw a sharp breath.

He turns as well and, as predicted, there is a tall woman at the counter receiving a full travel mug, with short black hair and a gym bag at her feet.

And next to her, in similar getup, looking right back at them with a sly tilt to the corner of her mouth, is Natasha.

As if in slow-motion, the background activity of the busy diner is momentarily muted against the rushing in Bucky's ears. In his periphery, he sees Clint give an uncertain little wave with the arm not currently around Bucky's shoulders.

Natasha, distractingly gorgeous with the black and red spandex of her sports outfit peeking out from underneath a long jacket, shoulders a gym bag identical to the other woman's and, after exchanging some inaudible words with her, makes her way over.

"Hey Nat, nice to see you. How've you been?" Clint asks, as if they were going way back, not just to her apartment that one time.

Bucky shakes the unbidden erotic flashbacks enough to smile mutely.  
He’s torn between wanting her to leave before Steve can ask how they know each other and hoping-slash-dreading Clint mentioning a potential continuation of how they _do_ know each other. Instead, Bucky fervently wishes for option three, which is for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Stuck firmly in panic mode, he doesn't know what to make of it when Clint moves his arm from the backrest behind Bucky and, completely calm, puts his large hand on Bucky's knee, pressing down gently to stop its sudden nervous bouncing.

Natasha's voice is as low and husky as Bucky remembers it, the amusement tugging at the corner of her lips suggesting she's utterly unfazed by the somewhat awkward encounter. "I'm good, thanks. Glad to see you guys-" she hesitates only minutely, eyes following the lines of Clint's arm underneath the table "-kept in touch."

"Would you and your friend like to join us?" says Steve, unsurprisingly tragic at reading the room. Even Bucky can tell he only has eyes for the dark-haired woman who's now close enough to make all of them aware of the stern crease between her brows.

"Natasha? We've got to go," she says, neither introducing herself nor deigning to grace the three men at the table with anything more than a curt nod.

"Unfortunately, we're gonna be late for work," Natasha tells Clint apologetically.

"That's too bad," he replies. Then without so much as a sideways glance back at Bucky, adds a hopeful, "Maybe some other time?"

If Bucky hadn't been watching Natasha so closely, he might have missed the flicker of surprise flitting across her face, but by pure chance, he catches it.

"Maybe," she replies evenly, but her eyes are narrowing as she tries to read their faces in turn.

Despite his previous worries, Bucky finds himself nodding along. "Sometime soon," he adds, and while he doesn't dare look over, he feels Clint's hand briefly tighten on his knee in what he knows must be something positive.

"Yeah," Clint says, taking another sip of coffee when she doesn't reply right away, shooting an apologetic look at her friend who's making an impatient noise. "You have my number."

"Don't think I do, actually," Natasha says and, to Bucky and his ratcheting pulse, the way she's pursing her lips looks like she's something between intrigued and interested.

"Pretty sure I wrote it on that yellow stack of post-it notes on your kitchen counter," Clint says, shifting in his seat as if he's acutely aware of their audience and the mostly correct conclusions they're going to be drawing from this fact.

Natasha laughs, a beautifully unpretentious snort, distracting Bucky from getting stuck on worrying whether the fact that Clint left her his number in the first place means that he himself was second choice.

"Funny thing," she says. " _Somebody_ let a strange cat into my place and it ate that particular stack of notes."

Clint laughs a curse under his breath and Bucky groans at the vivid memory of a black shadow dashing into the apartment between their feet as they left in the early hours of the morning.

"Nat..." her friend reminds her impatiently and Steve, bless the man, smiles disarmingly and offers Natasha the biro he's been doodling with all morning.

"Just one more second, Maria," Natasha asks, dropping her bag to take the pen and holding out her hand to Clint. She draws a clearly legible row of digits onto his outstretched palm. "You two are together now?" she asks almost conversationally, eyes on her writing.

"We are," Bucky confirms, covering Clint's other hand with his own under the table.

Numbers finished, Clint's hand still rests in hers when Natasha looks from one of them to the other.

She raises an eyebrow in an impish, calculating expression that feels vaguely familiar, and Bucky recognizes it as the look she had that night when they left the bar. Just before the suggestion that the night didn't have to end just then if they didn’t want it to.

"Call me," she tells Bucky decisively, giving Clint's hand one last squeeze before handing Steve his pen and following her long-suffering friend out the door.

Bucky releases a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. Across the table, Steve wears the face of a man with a plan and with another sigh Bucky realizes his childhood pal is probably going to have _questions_. Curling his fingers around Clint's, he braces himself for potential judgment, confusion writ large on his face when Steve clutches not his imaginary pearls but at the vicinity of his heart and demands:

"Tell me everything you know about Maria...!"


End file.
